Goblin Reservation by Simak Clifford Chapter 5
The Pig and Whistle was dark and clamorous and smoky. The tables were jammed together, with narrow lanes between them. Candles burned with flickering flames. The murmurous din of many voices, seemingly talking all at once, filled the low-ceilinged room.
Maxwell stopped and peered, trying to locate a table that might be vacant. Perhaps, he thought, they should have gone somewhere else, but he had wanted to eat here, for the place, a hangout of students and some members of the faculty, spelled the campus to him.
"Perhaps," he said to Carol Hampton, "we should go somewhere else."
"There'll be someone along in just a minute," she said, "to show us to a table. Everyone seems so busy. There must have been a rush-Sylvester, cut that out!"
She spoke appealingly to the people at the table beside which they stood. "You'll excuse him, please. He has no manners, none at all. Especially table manners. He snatches everything in sight."
Sylvester licked his chops, looking satisfied.
"Think nothing of it, miss," said the man with the bushy beard. "I really didn't want it. To order steak is just compulsive with me."
Someone shouted across the room. "Pete! Pete Maxwell!"
Maxwell peered into the gloom. At a far table, inserted in a corner, someone had risen and was waving his arms. Maxwell finally made him out. It was Alley Oop and beside him sat the white-shrouded figure of Ghost.
"Friends of yours?" asked Carol.
"Yes. Apparently they want us to join them. Do you mind?"
"The Neanderthaler?" she asked.
"You know him?"
"No. I just see him around at times. But I'd like to meet him. And that is the Ghost?"
"The two are inseparable," said Maxwell.
"Well, let's go over, then."
"We can say hello and go somewhere else."
"Not on your life," she said. "This place looks interesting."
"You've never been here before?"
"I've never dared," she said.
"I'll break the path," he told her.
He forged slowly among the tables, trailed by the girl and cat.
Alley Oop lunged out into the aisle to meet him, flung his arms around him, hugged him, then grasped him by the shoulders and thrust him out at arm's length to stare into his face.
"You are Old Pete?" he asked. "You aren't fooling us?"
"I am Pete," said Maxwell. "Who do you think I am?"
"Well, what I want to know then," said Oop, "is who it was we buried three weeks ago last Thursday. Both me and Ghost were there. And you owe us twenty bucks refund on the flowers we sent. That is what they cost us."
"Let us sit down," said Maxwell.
"Afraid of creating a scene," said Oop. "This place is made for scenes. There are fist fights every hour on schedule and there's always someone jumping up on a table and making a speech."
"Oop," said Maxwell, "there is a lady present and I want you to tame down and get civilized. Miss Carol Hampton, and this great oaf is Alley Oop."
"I am delighted to meet you, Miss Hampton," said Alley Oop. "And what is that you have there with you? As I live and breathe, a saber-toother! I'll have to tell you about the time, during a blizzard, I sought shelter in a cave and this big cat was there and me with nothing but a dull stone knife. I had lost my club, you see, when I met the bear, and-"
"Some other time," said Maxwell. "At least, let us sit down. We are hungry. We don't want to get thrown out."
"Pete," said Alley Oop, "it is a matter of some large distinction to be heaved out of this joint. You ain't arrived socially until you've been thrown out of here."
But, muttering under his breath, he led the way back to the table and held a chair for Carol. Sylvester planted himself between Maxwell and Carol, propped his chin on the table and glared balefully at Oop.
"That cat don't like me," Oop declared. "Probably he knows how many of his ancestors I wiped out back in the Old Stone Age."
"He's only a bio-mech," said Carol. "He couldn't possibly."
"I don't believe a word of it," said Oop. "That critter is no biomech. He's got the dirty meanness in his eyes all saber-toothers have."
"Please, Oop," said Maxwell. "Just a moment, please. Miss Hampton, this gentleman is Ghost. A long-time friend of mine."
"I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Ghost," said Carol.
"Not Mister," said Ghost. "Just plain Ghost. That is all I am. And the terrible thing about it is that I don't know who I am the ghost of. I'm most pleased to meet you. It is so comfortable with four around the table. There is something nice and balanced in the number four."
"Well," said Oop, "now that we know one another, leave us proceed to business. Let us do some drinking. It's lonesome for a man to drink all by himself. I love Ghost, of course, for his many sterling qualities, but I hate a man who doesn't drink."
"You know I can't drink," said Ghost. "Nor eat, either. Or smoke. There's not much a ghost can do. But I wish you wouldn't keep pointing it out to everyone we meet."
Oop said to Carol, "You seem to be surprised that a barbaric Neanderthaler can sling the language around with the facility I command."
"Not surprised," said Carol. "Astounded."
"Oop," Maxwell told her, "has soaked up more education in the last twelve years than most ordinary men. Started out virtually in kindergarten and now is working on his doctorate. And the thing about it is that he intends to keep right on. He is, you might say, one of our most notable professional students."
Oop raised his arm and waved it, bellowing at a waiter. "Over here," he shouted. "There are people here who wish to patronize you. All dying of slow thirst."
"The thing," said Ghost, "I have always admired about him is his shy, retiring nature."
"I keep on studying," said Oop, "not so much that I hunger after knowledge as for the enjoyment I get from the incredulous astonishment on the faces of those stuffed- shirt professors and those goofy students. Not," he said to Maxwell, "that I maintain all professors are stuffed shirts."
"Thank you," Maxwell said.
"There are those who seem to think," said Oop, "that Homo sapiens neanderthalensis can be nothing other than a stupid brute. After all, he became extinct, he couldn't hold his own-which in itself is prime evidence that he was very second-rate. I'm afraid that I'll continue to devote my life to proving-"
The waiter appeared at Oop's elbow. "It's you again " he said. "I might have known when you yelled at me. You have no breeding, Oop."
"We have a man here," Oop told him, ignoring the insult, "who has come back from the dead. I think it would be fitting that we should celebrate his resurrection with a flourish of good fellowship."
"You want something to drink, I take it." "Why," said Oop, "don't you simply bring a bottle of good booze, a bucket of ice and four-no, three glasses. Ghost doesn't drink, you know."
"I know," the waiter said.
"That is," said Oop, "unless Miss Hampton wants one of these fancy drinks?"
"Who am I," asked Carol, "to gum up the works? What is it you are drinking?"
"Bourbon," said Oop. "Pete and I have a lousy taste in liquor."
"Bourbon let it be," said Carol.
"I take it," said the waiter, "that when I lug the bottle over here, you'll have the cash to pay for it. I remember the time-"
"Whatever I may lack," said Oop, "will be forthcoming from Old Pete."
"Pete?" the waiter glanced at Maxwell. "Professor!" he exclaimed. "I had heard that you..."
"That's what I been trying to tell you," said Oop. "That's what we're celebrating. He came back from the dead."
"But I don't understand."
"You don't need to," said Oop. "Just rustle up the booze."
The waiter scurried off.
"And now," said Ghost to Maxwell, "please tell us what you are. You are no ghost, apparently, or if you are, there's been a vast improvement in procedure since the man I represent shuffled off his mortal coil."
"It seems," Maxwell told them, "that I'm a split personality. One of me, I understand, got in an accident and died."
"But that's impossible," said Carol. "Split personality in the mental sense-sure, that can be understood. But physically..."
"There's nothing in heaven or earth," said Ghost, "that is impossible."
"That's a bad quotation," said Oop, "and, besides, you misquoted it."
He put a hand to his hairy chest and scratched vigorously with blunt fingers.
"You needn't look so horrified," he said to Carol. "I itch. I'm a brute creature of nature, therefore I scratch. And I'm not naked, either. I have a pair of shorts on."
"He's housebroken," said Maxwell, "but just barely."
"To get back to this split personality," said the girl, "can you tell us what actually did happen?"
"I set out for one of the Coonskin planets," said Maxwell, "and along the way somehow my wave pattern duplicated itself and I wound up in two places."
"You mean there were two Pete Maxwells?"
"That's the way of it."
"If I were you," said Oop, "I'd sue them. These Transportation people get away with murder. You could shake them down for plenty. Me and Ghost could testify for you. We went to your funeral.
"As a matter of fact," he said, "I think Ghost and I should sue as well. For mental anguish. Our best friend cold and rigid in his casket and us prostrate with grief."
"We really were, you know," said Ghost.
"I have no doubt of it," said Maxwell.
"I must say," said Carol, "that all three of you take it rather lightly. Here one good friend of three-"
"What do you want of us?" demanded Oop. "Sing hallelujahs, perhaps? Or bug out our eyes and be filled with the wonder of it? We lost a pal and now he's back again and-"
"But one of him is dead!"
"Well," said Oop, "as far as we were concerned, there was never more than one of him. And maybe this is better. Imagine the embarrassing situations that could develop if there were two of him."
Carol turned to Maxwell. "And you?" she asked.
He shook his head. "In a day or two, I'll take some serious thought of it. Right now, I guess, I'm putting off thinking about it. To tell you the truth, when I do think about it, I get a little numb. But tonight a pretty girl and two old friends and a great big pussy cat and a bottle of liquor to get rid of and later on some food."
He grinned at her. She shrugged.
"I never saw such a crazy bunch," she said. "I believe I like it."
"I like it, too," said Oop. "Say whatever you will of it, this civilization of yours is a vast improvement over the days of yore: It was the luckiest day of my life when a Time team snatched me hence just at the point when some of my loving brother tribesmen were about to make a meal of me. Not that I blame them particularly, you understand. It had been a long, hard winter and the snow was deep and the game had been very scarce. And there were certain members of the tribe who felt they had a score or two to settle with me-and I'll not kid you; they may have had a score. I was about to be knocked upon the head and, so to speak, dumped into the pot."
"Cannibalism!" Carol said, horrified.
"Why, naturally," he told her. "In those rough and ready days, it was quite acceptable. But, of course, you wouldn't understand. You've never been really hungry, I take it. Gut hungry. So shriveled up with hunger-"
He halted his talk and looked around.
"The thing that is most comforting about this culture " he declared, "is the abundance of the food. Back in the old days we had our ups and downs. We'd bag a mastodon and we'd eat until we vomited and then we'd eat some more and-"
"I doubt," Ghost said warningly, "that this is a proper subject for dinner conversation."
Oop glanced at Carol.
"You must say this much for me," he insisted. "I'm honest. When I mean vomit, I say vomit and not regurgitate."
The waiter brought the liquor, thumping the bottle and the ice bucket down upon the table.
"You want to order now?" he asked.
"We ain't decided yet," said Oop, "if we're going to eat in this crummy joint. It's all right to get liquored up in, but-"
"Then, sir," the waiter said, and laid down the check. Oop dug into his pockets and came up with cash.
Maxwell pulled the bucket and the bottle close and began fixing drinks.
"We're going to eat here, aren't we?" asked Carol. "If Sylvester doesn't get that steak you promised him, I don't know what will happen. He's been so patient and so good with the smell of all the food..."
"He's already had one steak," Maxwell pointed out. "How much can he eat?"
"An unlimited amount," said Oop. "In the old days one of them monsters would polish off an elk in a single sitting. Did I ever tell you-"
"I am sure you have," said Ghost.
"But that was a cooked steak," protested Carol, "and he likes them raw. Besides, it was a small one."
"Oop," said Maxwell, "get that waiter back here. You are good at it. You have the voice for it."
Oop signaled with a brawny arm and bellowed. He waited for a moment, then bellowed once again, without results.
"He won't pay attention to me," Oop growled. "Maybe it's not our waiter. I never am able to tell them monkeys apart. They all look alike to me."
"I don't like the crowd tonight," said Ghost. "I have been watching it. There's trouble in the air."
"What is wrong with it?" asked Maxwell.
"There are an awful lot of creeps from English Lit. This is not their hangout. Mostly the crowd here are Time and Supernatural."
"You mean this Shakespeare business?"
"That might be it," said Ghost.
Maxwell handed Carol her drink, pushed another across the table to Oop.
"It seems a shame," Carol said to Ghost, "not to give you one. Couldn't you even sniff it, just a little?" "Don't let it bother you," said Oop. "The guy gets drunk on moonbeams. He can dance on rainbows. He has a lot of advantages you and I don't have. For one thing, he's immortal. What could kill a ghost?"
"I'm not sure of that," said Ghost.
"There's one thing that bothers me," said Carol. "You don't mind, do you?"
"Not at all," said Ghost.
"It's this business of your not knowing who you are the ghost of. Is that true or is it just a joke?"
"It is true," said Ghost. "And I don't mind telling you, it's embarrassing and confusing. But I've just plain forgotten. From England-that much, at least, I know. But the name I can't recall. I would suspect most other ghosts-"
"We have no other ghosts," said Maxwell. "Contacts with other ghosts, of course, and conversations and interviews with them. But no other ghost has ever come to live with us. Why did you do it, Ghost-come to live with us."
"He's a natural chiseler," said Oop. "Always figuring out the angles."
"You're wrong there," Maxwell said. "It's damned little we can do for Ghost."
"You give me," said Ghost, "a sense of reality."
"Well, no matter what the reason," said Maxwell, "I am glad you did it."
"The three of you," said Carol, "have been friends for a long, long time."
"And it seems strange to you?" asked Oop.
"Well, yes, maybe it does," she said. "I don't know really what I mean."
Sounds of scuffling came from the front of the place. Carol and Maxwell turned around in their chairs to look in the direction from which the scuf8ing came, but there wasn't much that one could see.
A man suddenly loomed on top of the table and began to sing:
Hurrah for Old Bill Shakespeare;
He never wrote them plays;
He stayed at home, and chasing girls,
Sang dirty rondelays...
Jeers and catcalls broke out from over the room and someone threw something that went sailing past the singer. Part of the crowd took up the song:
Hurrah for Old Bill Shakespeare;
He never wrote them...
Someone with a bull voice howled: "To hell with Old Bill Shakespeare!"
The room exploded into action. Chairs went over. There were other people on top of tables. Shouts reverberated and there was shoving and pushing. Fists began to fly. Various items went sailing through the air.
Maxwell sprang to his feet, reached out an arm and swept it back, shoving Carol behind him. Oop came charging across the tabletop with a wild war whoop. His foot caught the bucket and sent the ice cubes flying.
"I'll mow 'em down," he yelled at Maxwell. "You pile 'em to one side!"
Maxwell saw a fist coming at him out of nowhere and ducked to one side, bringing his own fist up in a vicious jab, hitting out at nothing, but aiming in the direction from which the fist had come. Over his shoulder came Oop's brawny arm, with a massive fist attached. It smacked into a face with a splattering sound and out beyond the table a figure went slumping to the floor.
Something heavy and traveling fast caught Maxwell behind the ear and he went down. Feet surged all around him. Someone stepped on his hand. Someone fell on top of him. Above him, seemingly from a long ways off, he heard Oop's wild whooping.
Twisting around, he shoved off the body that had fallen across him and staggered to his feet.
A hand grabbed him by the elbow and twisted him around.
"Let's get out of here," said Oop. "Someone will get hurt."
Carol was backed against the table, bent over, with her hands clutching the scruff of Sylvester's neck. Sylvester was standing on his hind legs and pawing the air with his forelegs. Snarls were rumbling in his throat and his long fangs gleamed.
"If we don't get him out of here," said Oop, "that cat will get his steak."
He swooped down and wrapped an arm around the cat, lifting him by the middle; hugging him tight against his chest.
"Take care of the girl," Oop told Maxwell. "There's a back door around here somewhere. And don't leave that bottle behind. We'll need it later on."
Maxwell reached out and grabbed the bottle.
There was no sign of Ghost.